


Don’t Call Me Shirley

by whetherwoman



Series: Sex Bloopers [6]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Sleep blooper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 01:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19879720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whetherwoman/pseuds/whetherwoman
Summary: “Listen,” David says, carefully pulling the inflating tab on his neck pillow, “there is an art to red eye flights.”





	Don’t Call Me Shirley

“Wow, no wonder your carry-on barely fit,” Patrick says, leaning back in his seat to make room for David’s blanket, inflatable neck pillow, eye mask, second blanket, and fuzzy hat. 

“Listen,” David says, carefully pulling the inflating tab on his neck pillow, “there is an art to red eye flights.”

“An art,” Patrick repeats. “So, performance art?”

David ignores him. “A red eye flight, improperly handled, can ruin you for weeks, Patrick. We don’t have that kind of time. I am going to be refreshed and at my best the moment we get off of this plane.”

“I’ve seen you when you wake up,” Patrick reminds him. 

“At my best,” David repeats, glaring at him. “Anyway, what are you going to do? Stay awake the whole flight?”

Patrick smirks at him, pulls his sweater hood up, crosses his arms, and settles back into his seat with his eyes closed. 

David snorts. Patrick’s lips twitch. “Watch out or I’ll lean on you and drool on your shoulder,” Patrick says without opening his eyes. 

“Try it and see what happens,” David says, and smooths the last wrinkle out of his blanket. He slips his eye mask down and starts counting his breaths. 

His blanket twitches. He tucks it more firmly around his legs. 

It twitches again. 

Then it’s yanked halfway off of him and he sits up. “Okay, what,” he says, and pulls his eye mask off. 

Patrick blinks at him. “I was cold.”

“Bring your own blanket,” David says firmly, and yanks it back. 

“I’m really cold,” Patrick says. “And you brought two.” 

David tries to adequately convey in his expression the depth of how unimpressed he is by this reasoning. “Mine,” he says firmly, and pulls his eyemask down again. 

Patrick actually pokes him in the side. “David,” he says, “David. You don’t want me to be ruined for weeks, right?”

“Oh my god,” David says, and flops a corner of a blanket over Patrick. Patrick promptly pulls far more than half of it over to cover his whole torso down to his knees, but redeems himself by lacing his fingers with David’s under the blanket. 

“Thanks,” Patrick says, and probably two blankets was overkill anyway because David feels plenty warm now. 

He squeezes Patrick’s hand and starts counting his breaths again. 

Patrick shifts. 

Patrick shifts again. 

“Stop. Moving,” David says. 

“This is really uncomfortable,” Patrick says, although at least he sounds apologetic now. 

“Oh my god,” David says, and rips off his eye mask. He sits up enough to look around the plane. The flight attendants had done their last walk through ten minutes ago, and the cabin lights were dim. No one in the rows around them has any reading lights on. “Okay,” David says, and pulls the blankets firmly around them both. Then he slides his hand down Patrick’s chest and starts to unzip his fly. 

Patrick grabs at his hand. “David!” he whispers. “What are you—we can’t—”

“You need to relax,” David says. “And you know how you get after you come.”

“I—” Patrick says, and cuts off when David wiggles the tips of his fingers. He can already feel Patrick starting to harden under his hand. “Well—” His hand loosens on top of David’s, and David takes the opportunity to flick open the button of his pants too. “You can—quietly?”

“That’s up to you,” David says primly, and watches Patrick bite his lower lip til it turns white as David slides his hand into Patrick’s boxers. 

Patrick’s eyes slip closed, but David keeps his open as he slowly jerks Patrick’s cock. No one’s moving in the cabin, but it wouldn’t do to be caught unawares. He keeps his grip light and slow, gliding over the head of Patrick’s cock, down and up again, sliding over the soft skin with just the wetness of Patrick’s precome to smooth the way. 

Patrick’s breath is slow, controlled. He could be asleep, if you weren’t close enough to feel the tension in all of his muscles, or hear the slight catch in his breath every time David’s thumb presses a little harder. One of his hands slips under David’s to grip David’s thigh. 

David keeps his pace even, doesn’t speed up, just feels Patrick’s fingers dig in to his thigh harder and harder, Patrick’s hips twitch up minutely into his hand, Patrick’s breath catch and catch and then hold as Patrick jerks in his hand. David cups his hand over the head of Patrick’s cock as it spurts, tries to keep as much as possible from getting on his pants. David drinks in the small changes in Patrick’s face, the furrow in his forehead that deepens and then relaxes, the way his nostrils flare as he pulls in a breath after a long moment. 

“Hey,” Patrick whispers. His eyes are still closed but his mouth is turning up in a small smile. “Thanks.”

David kisses just above his ear, the only part of Patrick he can reach around the neck pillow, then carefully pulls his hand out and grabs a stack of the airplane napkins he’d stuffed into his seat back pocket. You can never hoard too many airplane napkins. By the time he cleans up as best he can, Patrick’s breath has slowed into his real sleep pattern, and he looks slack jawed and content.

David congratulates himself on a job well done, carefully zips up Patrick’s fly, settles back in his seat, and closes his eyes. 

Then he opens them again. His leg is cold where Patrick has pulled the blanket off of it. His eye mask has disappeared who knows where. And Patrick has tilted into David’s shoulder and is both snoring lightly and, yes, drooling. 

It’s going to be a long flight.


End file.
